When the Fiddler Stops
by CaffieneKitty
Summary: All Hell breaks loose at the Roadhouse. An AU missing scene for AHBL1 with Ash and Ellen. Rated T for Language, Violence and Death. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings:** SPOILERS for EP 2.21 (All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 1) and inferential spoilers for Ep 2.22 (AHBL 2) Also contains violence, egregious abuse of bar equipment and more swearing than I've had in any fic, like, _ever_, because some people are incorrigible potty-mouths when the camera's off. Looking at you, _Dr. Badass_.  
**Disclaimer:** Ash, Ellen, the Winchesters, the world, the bar, all Kripke's. OC's are based on background extras, mostly, so Kripke probably owns them too. **Summary:** Definitely not a typical night at the Roadhouse. An alternate missing scene for AHBL 1. Assorted POV's, primarily Ash.  
**Special Thanks To:**wynterwolf47 of LJ, who beta'd this, and without whom many poker players' heads would have exploded.

**A/N:**This is a highly improbable, microscopic, pretzel-free AU of no real consequence, an alternate version of what could have happened at the Roadhouse. Might be a wee bit cracky and really cheesy, might be utter crap. Definitely violent and contains in total at least 30 occurrences of the F-word overall and a smattering of other bleepables. Please, for the love of all you hold dear, tell me what you think! This is way different than the stuff I usually write, so I'm really curious what y'all think of it. If people pelt me with eggs for it, I'll just delete it and call it a hallucination.

Mainly though? I wrote this because **I wanted a demonic bar brawl, dammit!**

It's in three parts, but will be updating within a few days. It's all done already, just being tweaked.

**When the Fiddler Stops**  
_Part 1_  
by CaffieneKitty  
- - -

_It's partner found, it's partner lost  
and it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops:  
it's closing time.  
- "Closing Time", Leonard Cohen_

Ash hung up and checked his watch. 8:18. _Fuck._Unless Dean was in the state, there was no way he would make it to the Roadhouse before the shit hit the fan.

"Hey there," he bared his teeth and nodded at yet another unfamiliar face, and sidled through the door to the kitchen. Instead of going to his room though, he ducked to the side and opened the door to the back cooler.

A rifle greeted him. He greeted it back with a "Whoa!"

"Ash! Dammit!" hissed Ellen, lowering the gun barrel. "Knock!"

"Sorry, distracted," he stepped over the sill of the cooler door and the fresh line of salt just inside it, closing the door behind him. "Don't think Dean and Bobby are gonna make it here in time for the party."

Ellen put the rifle down and resumed disconnecting the dedicated water lines for the soda guns behind the bar. "That's a shame," she said, tight-jawed, "but maybe just as well. How's it look up front?"

"I count about two definite, one possible," Ash sniffed, "and a handful that might change sides just for the hell of it. If you'll 'scuse the pun."

Ellen shot him a stern look. "This isn't a joking matter, Ash."

"Hell, I know that!" Ash snagged a bottle of beer from an open case on the cooler shelf and cracked it open. Why the fuck not, after all. It'd calm his nerves. "We are in a heap of freshly stirred shit."

Ellen watched Ash take the beer and said nothing, reconnecting the water line to the first of two large kegs marked 'Special Reserve' on an overhead shelf. "Alright. We'll hold off as long as we can, but if they can't get here..."

Ash drank the beer and looked twitchy.

"How sure are you they won't get here in time?" Ellen asked.

"Damn sure, 'less that car of Dean's can fly. Estimate we've got two hours at most before the demons make their move."

"Can you e-mail it to them? Get the information out?"

Ash shook back his hair. "Running Outlook on the tracking computer was givin' me all kinds of false positives for demonic activity, so..." He wilted under Ellen's glare. "There's no way there's something secure enough to send this, especially to a fucking cell phone. No telling how far this has gotten, but I'd say pretty damned far. We need to get to them in person and have a sit-down somewhere at the ass-end of nowhere. We all need to get the fuck _out_of here."

"You need to get out of here, get to Dean and Bobby. This is my bar, Bill and I started this place when I got pregnant, and I'm not going to take off and leave it and the people in it to those bastards."

"No fucking way, Ellen. Jo'd have my ass if you die. I like my ass."

Ellen cracked a tense grin. "Now, Ash, you know I've been tellin' you for years. Jo doesn't want your ass."

Ash smirked. "Who's the joker now?"

Ellen finished connecting the second water line to the other keg. "Gonna need a car. The truck's got a busted leaf-spring and a blown head gasket, and the RV's been up on blocks since '92."

"I thought your day guy was supposed to get the parts to fix that truck three weeks ago."

"Ethan? He's been finding excuses not to, doing the errands into town himself..."

Ash nodded. "Make that two definites and _two_possibles."

Ellen glowered. "Who are the guys you figure to change sides?"

Ash jerked his hear towards the bar on the other side of the cooler wall. "Spence McCall. Gary Suleiman. Nick Petroski."

Ellen pressed her lips together and nodded. "Yeah. They've been dipping a little far into the shadows lately, more ways than one... Anyone out there to be rallied, when the time comes?"

"Maybe, here and there. Ken Braddock and his usual gang of bullshitters were tits-deep in a poker game, last I looked."

Ellen nodded, reconnecting the CO2 line and checking the gauge. The dial read in the green, ready to go.

"Terry Dearborn was coming in the door before I got on the phone, didn't see if he was with anyone."

"He's an ass, but he's alright."

"As long as they ain't got to him first. Hell, anybody can be turned when it comes to that." Ash suddenly looked up and met Ellen's eyes examining him.

"Cristo," they said simultaneously. Ash smirked again.

Ellen rolled her eyes. "Can you sneak out and steal someone's car?"

Ash held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. "Sure, if it had a fucking keyboard."

Ellen scowled. "I've gotta get back out there. Lucy knows to keep Ethan off the soda guns, but it's a busy night. We can't let on we know. If our hand tips early, they'll attack before we're ready." She glanced up at the kegs. "You need to get a working vehicle."

Ash nodded and turned to the door, but stopped with his hand on the handle. "Hey... Ellen?"

"What?"

"I'm glad that Jo fucked off, I mean, took off. So she's not here today. Y'know?"

Ellen's face hardened for a second. "No one's gladder about that than me right now. But thanks, Ash."

-.-

Ash sauntered out of the back hall, nodding at Spence McCall and his cronies who were bellied up to the bar and monopolizing Ethan. Then Spence and Ethan both turned to stare blankly at him, and Ash felt a chill down the back of his neck that his mullet couldn't block.

_Three_ definites and two possibles. _Fuck me sideways,_Ash thought.

Lucy was wiping off glassware and watching the cluster at the bar. She nodded at Ash. One ally. Around the bar, the number of unfamiliar faces lurking around the sides of the room... God _damn_.

Ash avoided making eye contact in his usual non-suspicious and suave way and picked his way through to the poker table. Ken Braddock, blowhard extraordinaire, sat at the table with Claudia, Terry, and... well thank fucking Christ. Ted Averette, Ken and Claudia's little shadow. Shitty at poker, Ash had heard, but well-off enough not to give a rat's ass how much cash he spread around, especially if it was to other hunters.

"Saaaay, d'you all happen to have a spare seat for this hand?" Ash asked, trying not to glance around the room.

Nearly in unison, four faces turned to stare at the mulleted intruder. "For who?" grunted Ken, leaning back in his chair with a grin.

"My glorious self, of course."

"Erm... Ash, duckie..." ventured Terry, greying head tilting forward, his British-accented words mock-apologetic. "I hate to break this to you, but you don't play poker."

"Who says I don't?"

"Well, _you_, as I recall. Last month wasn't it? Something about poker being for idiots who couldn't count past thirteen?" Terry winked across the table at Claudia, who grinned back and snapped her gum.

Ash nodded, "Maybe I changed my mind."

Ken raised his eyebrows at Ash and Terry grinned ferally.

"Man's got a right to change his fucking mind." Ash watched two of the definites cross from opposite sides of the bar to sit at a corner table in the back, facing the poker game. They immediately leaned in to talk to each other. Time was fucking ticking. "Am I in?"

"Depends," drawled Ken. "You got money?"

Aw, shit. "Uh, not really..."

The table broke up laughing.

Behind Ash, Ellen came out through the kitchen door and whispered to Lucy, who scurried out into the main bar area with a tray and an order pad. Ellen stood behind the bar, fiddling with something under the counter away from Ethan, watching and waiting.

Fuck it, no time for this shit. Sam and Dean'd understand. "But I've got this." He peeled the watch off his left wrist, quickly noted the time - nearly eight thirty - and tossed it into the pot in the center of the table.

Ted, pushed his dark-rimmed glasses up, leaned in and peered at the watch. "Fifty bucks, if it was new," he sniffed.

Claudia grinned over towards Terry as though sharing a private joke, but Terry was looking curiously at Ash like he was a new kind of bug. "Not enough," Ken said. "Ante is a hun-"

"That there's John Winchester's watch," Ash said.

The table fell silent for a half-second. Claudia wrinkled her nose, and leaned back. Ted looked at the watch again like it would bite him. Terry gave a slow nod, still staring at Ash.

Ken glowered at the watch then at Ash. "...Bullshit."

"God's honest fuckin' truth." Or near enough.

"How'd _you_get it?"

"Did his son a favor once." The hunters at the table exchanged glances, except Terry, who had raised an eyebrow.

"Must have been quite a favor to get something of John's away from one of those two," Terry said.

Ash ducked his head. "He didn't exactly give it to me, more like left it with me for safe-keeping."

"And your idea of safe-keeping is to use it to get into a game of poker?"

"Am I in or not?" Come on, fuckers, _come on._

Terry glanced over at Ken, who was still scowling at the watch. "Well, if no-one objects, I shall cover Ash's marker," Terry said, placing a hand on the neatly stacked pile of twenties in front of him.

"Naw," Ken said, reaching in and engulfing John's watch with his right hand. "I'll cover it. I always did want a piece of John Winchester." He tossed in a handful of cash into the pot with a grin. "Dunno what it is you plan on wagering with no money, Ash, but prepare to lose it. You've got your seat."

-.-

Ellen counted heads again and put down her pencil, picked up the stack of coasters and placed them carefully on the cork-lined serving tray next to a dozen small glasses. It had been a long time since Bill and her had set this all this up, back during the build-up to Devil's Gate, just in case. Hardly anyone knew about it anymore. Coordinating a group of random hunters like this without prior arrangement, argument, and pissing matches was about like herding cats. Not that there was much choice for anyone in this. Ellen hoped they...

Well, Ellen just hoped.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Ethan looming in her direction and looked up.

"Are the soda guns back up?" he asked.

Ellen bared her teeth. "No, they're down for the night. They need a part from town for the CO2 feed. Tank supplier'll deliver it tomorrow."

Ethan raised an eyebrow and spoke slowly, like an oil slick spreading across a calm lake. "You were back there a long time, Ellen. Are you sure it's just one part? Maybe I should take a look."

"No," Ellen said flatly. "It's a busy night, I need you out front." _Not in back where you can see there's nothing wrong with the CO2._The way he handled salt shakers made Ellen think the salt line in the cooler doorway wouldn't have much effect on him.

"What if, say, someone wants a rum and coke?"

Ellen barked a laugh, startling herself. "How often do we need mix, Ethan? These people are straight-up and keep 'em comin' types, you know that." She glanced over Ethan's shoulder and met Spence McCall's level stare.

"Sometimes they do, though," Ethan oozed. "You're sure you don't want me to go into the back cooler, Ellen?"

She locked eyes with Ethan. "You can check it out after closing, after the rush dies down. 'Til then if someone gets their shorts in a wad for a vodka spritzer or a Shirley Temple, use the canned mix." She kicked the mini-fridge under the bar, making the shotgun on top of it rattle, smirked and purposefully turned her back on Ethan.

Ellen could hear him still standing behind her by the quiet; noise in the bar dampened slightly by his presence. She picked up a stack of invoices and flipped through them with one hand, not seeing a single one. Her other hand, fingernails tapping in vague time to the music on the jukebox, was resting next to one of the 'out of service' soda guns. She could feel Ethan's stare between her shoulder blades like a cinder. _If now's when you're making your move, bastard, bring it on._

After a long second, Ethan moved away, bar noises no longer impeded by his bulk. Ellen kept tapping her fingernails and shuffling papers, breath steady and even, humming tensely.

Unless Ethan had twenty matchbooks in his pocket, or had been hitting the pickled eggs _damn_hard, the very faint stench of sulfur, not noticeable unless you were consciously looking for it, moved him from a possible to a definite. There hadn't been much doubt, but still. He'd been working here on and off for six months, damn him. Ellen's hand didn't shake as she picked up the pencil again. Not even slightly.

- - -  
(To Be Continued)

_(extended A/N plus a screencap reference for the OC's is at my LJ, linked on my authour page here)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings:** Ash still has a notably filthy mouth. Impending violence, impending death, impending doom, et cetera. Might be a tiny bit of gore in this part.  
**A/N:**Assorted POV's, primarily Ash but nearly everyone's getting a shot at POV in this section. (More notes at LJ version linked on author page.)

-.-

**When the Fiddler Stops**  
_Part 2_  
by CaffieneKitty  
-.-

Ash sat at the poker table in the center of the busy bar room, feeling like he was on display, watching the two pair of watching eyes he'd noted earlier.

Terry sent a quick glance over to the same corner Ash was preoccupied with. "Friends of yours?" he purred as he dealt out the new hand.

"Who, them?" Ash said, drinking from his purloined beer and looking consciously nonchalant. "Nope. They're part of my fan club." Ash shook back his hair and sniffed. "What can I say, the lure of the mullet is irresistible."

Claudia giggled, holding a be-ringed hand in front of her lips, playing coy for god only knew who at the table. Ken glanced at her, then at Ash and growled, "Are we talking or playing?"

Ash picked up his cards, feeling the weight of dark eyes from across the room. _For a guy with an IQ of 150, you are one dumb fuck, Ash. You don't play poker and you can't clue these fuckers in if they won't let you talk. How in hell is this supposed to work?_

"Oh, a bright fellow like Ash can talk and play at the same time I'm sure," Terry said, peeking at his cards but leaving them face-down to stare again at Ash. "I'm rather fond of his chatter. He's like a drunken monkey."

Ash shot a look at Terry. When Terry was in the bar, he was usually one of the first to threaten to sew Ash's lips shut. Terry flicked the barest wink at him. _Definite_sign of a coming apocalypse.

"So tell us about this fan club of yours?" said Terry, leaning in, jaw set under the surface smirk.

"A real _hell_of a bunch." Ash said, nervously re-arranging the cards in his hands. "Persistent bastards. Hard to get away from them, especially as I am... unencumbered by vehicular entrapments, so to speak."

"What would you do with a car, Ash?" Claudia said, "I heard you don't have your license."

"Doesn't mean I can't drive," Ash sniffed, "just means the law don't like it when I drive." Along with everyone else on the road, but that wouldn't matter. Ellen could drive, because there was no way she was staying behind.

Ted blinked at his cards. Ken whispered something in Claudia's ear and she snickered and stared at Ash for a second then whispered back. Terry's attention was riveted on Ash which was almost fucking creepy if it weren't for a damn good reason.

Betting went around the table. When it came around to Ash, Terry spotted him a stack of bills for stake money, something else that would only happen at the end of the world.

Claudia watched the money change hands and narrowed her eyes. She looked from Terry to Ash, and then glanced around the room, leaned back languidly in her chair, cards face down on the table and snapped her gum. "So, why do you have this fan club, Ash? Surely not all on account of your magnificent mane?"

Ash attempted a rueful grin. "I'll admit it, they just want me for my mind."

Ken snorted, still scowling at his cards and apparently not picking up on the secondary conversation going on at the table. Ted looked mildly curious, but he usually looked like that, so no way of telling if he was paying attention or not.

"Got a lot of really interesting things in _my_mind," Ash continued. "So interesting these bastards are after my friends too. They've been harassing Ellen and Lucy." Ash nodded at the dark-haired server quickly going around to tables, taking orders, keeping more distance from some tables than others.

"Well," said Terry, all bluff, cheer, and clenched teeth. "Good thing we aren't your friends then."

Strained laughter limped around the table.

"So... how many people are in this fan club of yours, Ash?" asked Ted, pushing up his glasses. He was paying attention after all.

"Aw, there's _shitloads_of people in my fan club. Like those two guys in the back corner..." Ash didn't point or nod, "...the lady with the scar at the pool table, maybe the guy with the hat by the juke box, maybe them fuckers on the barstools, maybe others. Hell, even Ethan."

Terry shot a glance over his shoulder toward the bar, then glared back down at the deck of cards in his hand.

"Other people looking to join too," continued Ash, "All the time."

"Not me," Ted said, gaze roving around the room, then to the others at the table, "I'm not much of a joiner."

"Me either," said Terry, narrowing his eyes towards the bar again.

"They've got ways of making you join. Easy as catching Hepatitis."

Claudia frowned, "Only that handful though?"

"See, those are just the ones inside this bar. Outside?" Ash's mouth went dry and he finished his beer in a gulp, choking slightly as foam went down the wrong tube. "Thousands," he rasped quietly. "Tens of fucking thousands."

Terry paled, and Claudia swallowed her gum. Ted's eyebrows drew down, and Ken's eyebrows went up, then up again. Surreptitious glances were made around the room by all four.

_Looks like the fucking clue-phone conference call has finally been picked up,_thought Ash, with some relief.

Ken grunted. "You really need to get away from this... fan club, hunh?"

"Fate of the fucking world depends on it."

Terry cleared his throat. "Bets are in, time for the draw." When Ash's turn came, Terry riffled the cards significantly, "So, how many cards would you like, Ash?"

Ash looked at his hand, looked at Terry and said "Five?"

Terry grinned and dealt Ash a straight flush. "Clever monkey."

-.-

Ellen was watching Ethan out of the corner of her eye and flipping through the stack of invoices again when Lucy came back to the bar with her note pad and a tray of empties. "Three draft, one bourbon, two whiskeys, tequila rocks with a twist, boilermaker, brandy, plum if we've got it." she said, delivering the order rapid fire to Ethan, who began pulling out glassware and filling the order with a self-satisfied smirk.

Lucy drifted behind the bar to the dishwasher to unload her empties, adding, "...and eight water back," when she was closer to Ellen.

"I'll get the waters Ethan," Ellen said, turning back to Lucy. "Only eight?" she asked in a whisper, "That plus the poker bunch?"

"_Including_the poker table." Lucy swallowed, and clutched her tray to her chest. "There might be others who'd... like a water," she looked toward two hunters at a table next to the jukebox, who were in turn glaring at the guy in the cowboy hat who was starting up 'Achy Breaky Heart' for the fifth time that night. "...but the people around them..."

"Gotcha. That's... that's good," Ellen said flatly. Could be worse.

"I didn't take the orders of the two guys on the front porch," Lucy said, her quiet voice shaking, "but they looked like they were planning to be out there a while yet, and, uh, not the 'water back' type."

"Son of a bitch," Ellen breathed. She picked up the soda gun and thumbed the 'plain water' switch, filling water glasses on the tray, picking off the extra glasses and stuffing the spare coasters into the trash.

"Thought you said the soda guns weren't working, Ellen?" said Ethan, looming suddenly behind Lucy.

Lucy didn't so much as squeak or twitch, though her eyes went wide.

Ellen continued filling glasses without a pause. "CO2 doesn't matter to plain water, Ethan. It's just for bubbles. You know that."

"What's wrong with tap water?"

Ellen overshot a glass, making a puddle on the bar. She wiped it up irritably with a bar rag. "Ethan, you know damn well the tap on that sink has been kicking out rust flakes for a month. You said you were going to get parts to fix that too. Honestly, between that and the truck, it's a wonder I keep you here."

Ethan lowered his head slightly and smirked, spreading his hands out to the sides in a 'mea culpa' gesture.

Ellen slid the tray of eight water glasses up next to the tray of drinks. "Sure you can handle all that, sweetie?" She said to Lucy as the girl came around to the front of the bar.

"I'll be fine," Lucy said, balancing both trays and retracing her route through the bar patrons.

"I was certain you said we never use these coasters..." Ethan said, snagging one from the stack on the counter and examining it, printed top and blank off-white underside.

"Supplier's giving me grief about not using their marketing. They'll raise the rates on beer if I don't."

"Lot of orders for water tonight," Ethan oozed, dropping the coaster back on the stack.

"It's been hot out."

"People drinking water instead of beer? That's going to cut into your profits, isn't it?" Slick and snide and delving.

Ellen turned on her bartender, leaning on the bar rag and planting a hand on her hip. "So's you standing around telling me how to run my business, jawing with your buddies instead of working. Glassware needs polished, sugar needs filled, prep needs done, and the dishwasher needs loaded. And tomorrow after the CO2 is fixed you _will_ get your ass straight out and get the parts to fix the sink _and_the damned truck, like you promised three weeks ago. I'm not paying you for your looks, sweetheart. Make yourself useful or do your socializing elsewhere."

Ethan raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Of course."

"Now, are you done giving me grief, or do we need to talk about this some more?" _Just a pissed off boss. Not a woman facing down a demon. No plans in progress. Not suspecting tomorrow is going to be a hell of a lot different than today. Nothing to hide here. Buy it. Buy it, you foul thing._

Ethan's mouth twisted upward. "No, nothing left to talk about," he said.

Ellen tensed as Ethan started to move, but he simply turned to the back wall and picked up a bottle of rye on the way back to the drink prep end of the bar. Her jaw clenched. She went back to where she'd spilled the water, wiping the counter dry. Then bumped the water button, shooting more water and wiped it up again.

-.-

Phil Latimer looked up from a sheaf of papers when Lucy arrived at his table with her trays of full glasses. She set down one full tray and balanced the other on one hand.

"Your water," She said, plunking a coaster on the table and setting a water glass beside it.

Phil looked at the table and wondered what the purpose of putting a coaster down was if you weren't setting the drink on it. "I didn't ask for a wa-"

"Ellen asked me to remind you," Lucy interrupted unceremoniously, picking up the water tray, "last call is at six o'clock."

Phil frowned and checked his watch. "But it's-"

"I said," Lucy said, interrupting again, "Six o'clock." She widened her eyes and flicked a glance over Phil's shoulder. "Six o'clock, got it?"

He looked at her and nodded slowly. "Got it...?" What the hell was going on?

Lucy navigated her way to the table behind Phil, and he let his eyes follow her progress. She set the water tray down on an empty table and set a beer in front of each of the two people seated in the corner. The second beer she set down slopped a little, but neither of the men at the table said anything. In fact they didn't seem to notice her at all, staring at the poker game in the center of the room like it was the fourth quarter of the Superbowl.

Lucy wiped the spilled beer up without a word, gathered her trays again and continued on quickly.

Phil rotated back in his chair to face his glass of water and flipped the coaster over.

_Be ready,_was written on the back in Ellen's tidy scrawl.

_Hunh. Alright, then,_Phil thought. Sliding the sheaf of papers into his bag, he dug out three guns, a gun cleaning kit and a box of ammo.

_So be it._

-.-

Yuanlao Quan inclined his greying head at the nervous girl putting a small glass of water and a beer coaster next to his brandy.

"Ah," he said sadly, looking at the coaster with the colorful logo. "A shame."

"Pardon?" Lucy asked, rattled.

Quan smiled. "And when is... closing time?"

Lucy blinked and licked her lips. "...Last call is at three o'clock."

He slid his eyes to his right and noted the two men at the corner table. The man at the table in front of them was disassembling one gun and loading two others.

"Just so," Quan said, bending to the side to pull a small flat case out of his bag, flipped it open and began pulling out ink, a calligraphy brush, and small sheets of parchment. "Thank you for your kind service. May I have the honour of your name?"

"Lucy Sanchez."

He met her eyes gravely. "Thank you, Lucy Sanchez. I will not forget you."

"Uh... Yeah. Okay." Lucy fled with her diminished trays.

Quan nodded again. He tipped the water onto his coaster without turning the disk over, watching the pressed cardboard slowly absorb the clear drops as he brushed thick black lines of swooping ink onto a strip of parchment.

-.-

Rachel had never seen the chick with the scar down the right half of her face before, but the woman hadn't been off the pool table for a couple hours solid. The clack of cues, the inept flirting of the guy the woman was playing pool with, and the ever-present bleeps and boings of the stupid video game were becoming very annoying. Usually Rachel could ignore them but tonight they were making it hard to concentrate.

Sitting at a table up in the games area, Rachel stared at the tarot cards spread out in front of her. Way more swords than she was comfortable seeing in a spread. Three of Swords, Five of Swords, Nine of Swords, Ten of Swords. Then to top it off, there was the Queen of Swords crossed by an inverted Devil. Not that that meant the _actual_Devil of course, but still, not good. The Tower in ruin, the Knight of Swords in the future, but not a near enough future have much effect...

She frowned at the cards. This was stupid. She was looking at them wrong or something. Or shuffling wrong. This wasn't going to scare her like some skittish twelve-year-old at a pajama party. These things were always subject to interpretation. But still... sorrow and loss in the past, a woman of strength crossed by evil, imminent chaos, destruction, disaster, defeat, failure, and aid arriving too late.

Someone, somewhere, was in the process of having a _very_bad day.

Lucy came up the steps to Rachel's table, juggling her trays around to get a free hand. She did a double take at the cards face up on the table before putting down a whiskey and a small water glass in front of Rachel. "Ellen wanted me to remind you, last call is at- oh _crap_."

A cardboard beer coaster fumbled out of the girl's fingers and rolled in diminishing circles on the floor, landing Pabst-Blue-Ribbon-logo-side up at the foot of the woman with the scar. Lucy paled, tray of drinks shaking.

"It's okay, I don't need a coaster. My deck is waterproof." Rachel said, still examining the layout of the cards.

"No, no, you _need_ that coaster," whispered Lucy, hesitating on where to put her other tray down, shooting glances at the scarred woman. "Ellen _wants_you to have that coaster."

Rachel wondered if Ellen had a secret habit of beating her employees or something. "Okay, fine," she said, frustrated with the ongoing disruption, and turned to the scarred woman. "Hey, you mind kicking that over here?"

Lucy squeaked.

The woman with the scar turned slowly to look over at Rachel and Lucy, expression blank, then down at the colorful cardboard disk on the floor, then over to the bar. Rachel followed the woman's gaze and saw Ethan, looking up at them, nod his head once, slowly. That was... kind of odd.

The woman nudged the coaster into Rachel's reach with the toe of her boot.

"Thanks," Rachel said, picking up the coaster and putting it on a tarot-card free corner of the table. Lucy looked like she was about to faint. "You alright, kid? You look like hell."

"Yeah," Lucy squeaked, then cleared her throat. "Yeah, I'm fine. Busy night."

"You sure you're holding up okay?"

"Um, yeah." Lucy frowned. "Ellen wanted me to, uh, remind you, last call is at, uh..." She glanced back towards the scarred woman, who was moving around the back of the pool table to make a shot. "It's at about eight o'clock at the moment."

Rachel blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Maybe seven thirty?"

Rachel lowered her voice, certain now that she was missing something. "It's already nearly nine, I'm not sure what you-"

Lucy turned slightly, blocking the view of her hand and Rachel's table from the pool players. "Last call," she pointed at the picture of the Devil on the tarot card, "is at," she dragged her shaking fingertips down the right side of her face, "eight o'clock," she jerked a thumb back towards the pool table.

Rachel glanced at the woman playing pool, then back at the inverted Devil card in the middle of the tarot spread. Down at the bar, a very tense Ellen wiped the counter and watched her bartender and his friends out of the corner of her eye, jaw set with repressed emotion.

Rachel flipped the coaster over to expose the writing on the back, read it, then flipped it back logo-side up underneath the card depicting the Tower besieged.

_Oh. Well,_ Rachel thought as Lucy gathered her second tray and fled back down the steps. _That explains everything._

-.-

A half hour into the poker game, Dean and Bobby still hadn't arrived, four hands had come and gone, and Ash had a fuckload of cash and the keys to Ted's red Yugo in front of him.

"Beginner's luck," muttered Ken, sitting tensely on his chair like he had a poker up his ass. Claudia had somehow acquired the watch from Ken and was wearing it on her right wrist, face to the inside. She fiddled with her rings and glanced at the group at the bar contemplatively.

Ash's count was at five definites and three possibles. Some of the other semi-regulars, in neither group, and not in a position to be alerted by Lucy, were picking up the room's energy and had their respective hackles way the fuck up regardless. 'Achy Breaky Heart' started on the jukebox again, and the two guys at the table next to it looked about ready to take the head off the guy with the cowboy hat whether he was a demon or not.

Lucy came finally to their table, all drinks distributed, just five waters and coasters left on her tray.

"I don't suppose I need to remind you folks when last call is?" she asked, smiling tightly, setting down coasters and waters in front of the card players.

"No, I don't suppose you do," said Ash glancing around the table. Ken looked significantly at Spence McCall and his two buddies at the bar. Ted put his hand on a small black book he'd pulled from his coat pocket during the third hand when he'd dug out his car keys. Terry's lined eyes glittered grimly and Claudia grinned.

"Didn't think so."

"Hey, Lucy?" Claudia started.

"Yeah?"

"I just wanted to thank-"

"Don't," interrupted Lucy. "Don't thank me." Lucy whispered tightly, setting the small glass of water in front of Claudia. "If one more person asks me how I'm holding up or thanks me for _anything_tonight I swear I'm going to burst into tears and I really don't want to be the one to blow this whole thing early by sniveling."

Claudia nodded. "Fair enough." She smirked, winked and swatted Lucy on the butt instead.

Lucy blinked, then laughed in surprise and walked toward the bar.

"We got time for one more hand?" Ken asked, shifting in his chair.

"There's always time for one more hand," said Terry, dealing out cards.

Ash watched Lucy head for the bar, swinging wide around Spence and his friends. _Not today there isn't._

-.-

At the bar, Ellen surveyed the room. Full house tonight. Amongst the grim unfamiliar faces were familiar ones. People she'd patched up, joked with, cursed out, watched get as blind drunk as they needed to get to forget things they'd seen. A handful of absolute assholes. One or two who'd watched her rage about Bill's death way back when, and helped her hold her life together in the aftermath. Friends, acquaintances, jerks and thieves. At the moment, she kind of loved them all, and what was about to come was breaking her heart.

As Lucy entered the bar area clutching her empty trays protectively to her chest, Ellen cleared her throat and addressed the bar room. "Gentlemen, Ladies, if I can have your attention?"

The guy playing pool with the scarred woman scratched, cue scraping along the felt, and glared obliviously towards the bar. Rachel swallowed, reaching for her water glass.

Quan curled a finger around the edge of his sodden coaster, other hand on the small stack of inked parchments and nodded to Phil who put aside the pieces of Glock he had disassembled, rested his hands on the two half-loaded .38's, and nodded back.

Terry turned slightly towards the jukebox. Ken and Claudia shifted towards the bar. Ted picked up his black book and nudged away from the table, breathing fast. Ash put the keys to Ted's red Yugo and a thick fold of bills from the stack on the table into his vest pocket, and hoped like fuck that they'd all survive.

Lucy put her trays down next to the second soda gun, glancing at Ellen from under her eyelashes, trembling as faces on all sides of the room turned Ellen's way.

In the corner of her eye, Ellen saw Ethan's expression slide from mild disdainful curiosity to the beginnings of unholy fury. The time was now.

With the hand furthest from Ethan she pulled the soda gun beside her up and held it like its namesake.

"People, it's time for _last call!_" she bellowed, turning and mashing down the entire top row of buttons which normally dispensed ginger ale, sprite and coke to spray Ethan square in the face.

The effect was spectacular, and grisly. Ethan's eyes flashed black and he shrieked as the skin on his face began to bubble and melt under the onslaught. The sugary soda syrup residue made it even worse; the holy water stuck and clung rather than steaming completely away. Ethan fell to his knees, clawing at his eyes and screaming.

"Try and take down _my_ bar, hurt _my_ friends, you got yourself a _fight_, you goddamned demonic son of a bitch!" Ellen shouted, spraying carbonated holy water.

- - -  
(to be concluded... soon)


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings:** Still spoilers for AHBL 1+2. Ya know that death, violence and egregious abuse of bar equipment I mentioned before? It's all here. And of course loads more swearing, and it's not solely from Ash.  
**A/N:** And now comes the body count... Lots and lots of combat and death. POV Mixed. Mostly Ash as usual, some Ellen, and some OC. Which, looking back on it, is weird because I like Ellen _way_more than Ash, it's just that Ash has a bigger mouth. As you'll see. This is the end, my friend, so buckle up. (More notes at LJ, because I apparently have a bigger mouth than Ash and just can't shut up.)

**-.-**

**When the Fiddler Stops**  
_Part 3_  
by CaffieneKitty

-.-

At Ellen's bellow, the rest of the bar erupted. Gunshots and cursing rang out, grating and crashing as furniture was shoved aside. A cloud of steam and shriek from the pool area was twinned by a deeper shriek from the back corner table. Chanting in melodic Chinese began to lilt over the chaos. Water was spraying all over the front of the bar like some kind of sick water park. Screaming, and steam that stank of sulfurous rotten meat.

Ellen was snarling, spraying her possessed bartender, down behind the bar, reaching around under the counter for something. Beside Ellen, Lucy blasted Spence McCall and his friends at the bar with the second soda gun, wide-eyed and shaking. Spence stumbled backwards, screaming and steaming, while Nick and Gary coughed and spluttered, glaring at the women behind the bar, reaching into their jackets for weapons.

Ken launched from the poker table behind them like a breaching whale, catching a hunter in each arm and slamming them against the edge of the bar. As Nick went down, gasping for air, Ken reared back and punched Gary in the face, sending the knife Gary'd been drawing spinning across the floor.

The guy in the cowboy hat started towards the poker table. Ash stood, pushing back his chair, but god _damn_if that wasn't old Terry up and striding toward the fucker, glass of holy water and all. The two guys at the table by the jukebox were on their feet too before the water was even thrown, looking happy for any excuse to start some shit with the guy in the cowboy hat.

"Stay down," Claudia shouted at Ash, shoving past him to intercept Spence, who was half-blinded from the water spray and staggering in their direction. Ted grabbed his black book and slid under the poker table.

Up at the bar, Ken had Gary held up by the collar, blood streaming from the smaller man's nose. A blonde woman in a jean jacket stumbled backwards down the steps from the pool enclosure, crashed into Ken and Gary, knocking them over like bowling pins. Latin intonations from near the front door had joined the Chinese chanting from the back corner.

"Stay down," echoed Ted, snagging Ash's arm and yanking him halfway under the poker table. "If they're after you and Ellen, you need to stay under cover until there's a clear-"

Ash jerked his arm away. "Fuck that shit, Ellen's not under cover!" He turned to the bar in time to see Nick Petroski, back on his feet, drawing a gun and pointing it at Ellen and Lucy. He fired, and both women dropped out of view behind the bar.

-.-

That's when things got floaty and red for Ash. Next thing Ash knew he had his legs wrapped around Nick's torso, clinging to his back, hollering and cursing himself hoarse, squeezing Nick's head with both arms. Just like that once at MIT. Ash felt Nick's nose shift with a wet scrunch. Nick dropped the gun and blindly tried to pry Ash's arms off his face.

Ken staggered back to his feet and landed a solid right hook square to Nick's sternum. Ash felt the crack of bone through his legs and fell down in a tangle with the brokenly wheezing hunter. The fall knocked Nick the rest of the way out cold, and Ash swore vilely as he tried to thrash out from under Nick's limp weight.

"Ellen! Lucy!" Ken shouted, rushing to the bar. There was another shot and Ken landed hard against the bar top, sliding down sideways in a clatter of bar stools, back a spray of red. Gary stood, bleeding from his mouth and nose, holding Nick's gun pointed at Ken's dead body, shaking.

Ash got himself loose of Nick's unconscious limbs and started for Gary, but the wiry hunter swung the gun at Ash, eyes glassy, mouth half-open, reddened teeth bared. Ash stopped, lowered his chin and half-raised his hands. _Fuck._

"Spence! I got him!" Gary shouted over his shoulder, over the sounds of struggle throughout the bar. "We supposed to kill him or what?"

"Spence is busy getting his ass exorcised, shithead!" Claudia shouted fiercely, landing another punch to the chin of the screaming, struggling man pinned underneath her. From beneath the poker table, Ted read something complex and holy-sounding in Greek from his little black book, passing a glass of water into Claudia's reaching hand.

"Your buddy's a fucking _demon!_" Ash gritted at Gary, eyes wide, breathing tight, moving slowly sideways toward the bar. Ethan hadn't popped up like a tin duck at the county fair yet, so there was hope Ellen and Lucy were fine, just staying down and keeping the demonic bartender subdued or exorcising him. "You're on the wrong side, fucknut!" Ash shouted at Gary.

Gary grinned and rubbed blood away from his mouth with his left hand. "I'm on the winning side. The winning side is never wrong."

"Bullshit." Across the room in the corner where there had been gunshots and chanting in Chinese, a black spume of demon smoke erupted and shot out a side window. _One down._ "You think that you're anything to them? You're fighting for _Hell_. Hell don't care if you helped 'em win or not, you're a fucking pawn. Human shield. Walking meat."

"Shut up."

Closer to the bar now, Ash thought he heard something from behind the counter, but in the general ruckus it was impossible to tell what was going on. A hideous gargling scream came from across the room in the pool enclosure. No demon-smoke. Not good. "You're a sacrifice. You're fucking _nothing_to them."

Gary raised his left hand to steady his grip on the automatic. "I don't know whether they want you alive or not, but if you don't shut your mouth right now, I'll-"

"You'll what?" snapped Ash, wondering when the hell he'd developed himself such a fucking impressive set of stones. Probably right around the time this asshole's buddy shot at his friends. Ash didn't have many actual friends, mainly people that needed to use him for information, so he was kind of set on keeping the few he had. "What are you gonna fucking do, _Gary?_"

"I'll shoot you dead, you mouthy little freak!"

"Aw. You think the fucking demons you're working for are gonna just pat you on the head if it turns out they wanted me alive?" Near the jukebox, someone shrieked, and another black spume streamed out a side window. _Two down._ Shouts from outside, probably not good either. "Think they'll say 'Well, fuck, Gary, ya did the best you could and here's a gold fucking star for using your initiative?' Fuck that! Whatever they might've had planned for me's gonna be ten times worse for you. They'll turn you into a fucking _amusement park_in Hell. You're worthless to them, alive or dead."

Gary's eyes flashed, and he raised the gun. _Shit, me and my fucking mouth._Ash closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

The shot echoed, almost, and Ash felt a breeze as the bullet passed his head. He dropped to the floor, eyes still closed. When he opened them again he saw Gary on the floor in front of him, blank-eyed and gasping like a fish out of water, shot in the side of his ribcage.

Ash looked around the room. The shooter, one of the two guys from the jukebox table, touched the brim of his ball cap at Ash. He skirted Claudia, who nodded grimly at him before he charged up into the melee in the pool enclosure. At the door, the other one was adding a table to the makeshift barricade primarily composed of the very dead jukebox, unceremoniously shoved in front of the door. Terry was dumping saltshakers in a line across the front windowsill, glancing back at the bar.

A steady stream of Greek still came from under the poker table, and Claudia was still keeping Spencer subdued with punches and the occasional holy water shot. "That was actually kind of impressive, Ash," Claudia called out as Ash scrambled to his feet.

"Yeah," Ash said, voice shaking, "remind me to puke later, okay?" He stepped carefully past Ken's corpse, ducked a flying billiard ball and, scared shitless of what he might see, vaulted onto the bartop.

The first thing he saw was Lucy, on her back, a hole in her chest, staring at the ceiling with sightless and horrified eyes. Fucking hell. Fucking _Hell._

The second thing he saw was Ellen. She had Ethan pinned to the floor, using the shotgun from on top of the mini-fridge as a bar across his chest and arms. A holy-water soaked bar rag was stuffed in his mouth, and Ellen had one of the soda guns at the end of its reach, spraying carbonated holy water up the possessed man's nose. Or at least that's what it looked like to Ash. _Damn_the woman could curse.

-.-

When Nick fired the shot, Ellen had reflexively dropped, but saw Lucy flung backwards by the impact, and known the girl was hit. In a split second of confusion as Lucy fell, Ellen's mind's eye had painted the young woman's dark hair bright gold. At the same time, Ethan had taken the opportunity to attack. Struggling with her possessed bartender while listening to her employee dying, the thought crossed Ellen's mind that if her daughter had stayed...

A wash of intense guilt for feeling glad, even for a second, that the woman choking on her last breath beside her wasn't Jo had flooded through Ellen, and she'd suddenly been thankful for something evil to pound on.

She had Ethan mostly under control by the time Ash hopped the bar. Ethan thrashed and choked, steam coming from him like an over-heated radiator.

"What took you all so long?" Ellen growled.

Ash grabbed the dangling soda gun and kept watch for inbound demons. "We gotta get _gone_, Ellen."

Terry came running towards the bar and Ash sprayed him with the soda gun just to be sure. The older man didn't steam as he came around the corner of the bar.

"Oh, damn," Terry sighed on seeing Lucy's body.

"Get going then," said Ellen, keeping the soda gun spray on Ethan, "Take Terry with you."

Quan's voice rose louder with the Chinese incantation and Phil ran up to the bar, pausing to get sprayed with holy water by Ash. "Quan's got our second guy done like dinner. Need a hand here?"

"Phil!" Ellen called, "Both of you, go with Ash and-"

The soda gun in Ellen's hand hissed, spurted and died. Suddenly Ellen was flying backwards. She slammed into the opposite side of the bar enclosure, head rebounding off the brass beer taps. Terry went to her, Phil aimed a gun down over the bartop at the possessed bartender.

"Either of you guys got an exorcism handy?" Ash yelled, grabbing the monkey statue from the bar and holding it in a threatening way.

Ethan rolled onto his side, spat out the rag, inhaled a deep gurgling breath and gacked up about a gallon of steaming black foam, followed by a weak trickle of demon smoke. His body collapsed, blood rapidly staining the side of his shirt. Black wisps started to stream up to the ceiling from the foam and drift out through cracks between the boards.

"Okay," said Phil, lowering his gun, "That works." Ash dropped the monkey and turned to Ellen.

Terry held a reddening bar rag to a gash on her forehead. Her head lolled and her eyes were unfocused but open. "Just a bit of a knock," said Terry. "She'll be all right."

The front door shuddered as something outside hit it hard, shaking the makeshift barricade of jukebox and tables. That wouldn't last. There was a lot of thumping and scuffling going on up by the pool table but Ash couldn't tell who or what had the upper hand there. Chinese still drifted from the far corner, but it sounded almost relaxed now.

"We've got this one!" shouted Claudia, still holding down Spence. "The rest'll be cake. Go!"

Terry called over the bar towards the underside of the poker table, "I warned you about those Greek exorcisms, Ted. They do take a lot longer, don't they?"

Ted's voice kept chanting, but his hand raised from underneath the table, middle finger extended.

Ash slung Ellen's arm over his shoulder and they followed Terry, Phil trailing them with guns out and watching every corner, out through the kitchen, out the side door and through Ellen's RV to the parking lot.

"Keep it up, Ted, he's weakening!" Claudia called over her shoulder, grinning as she watched Ash and Ellen head out through the kitchen. Ted nodded and kept reading. Neither of them saw the eyes of the possessed man flicker from black for a moment. As Claudia turned back to her captive, a spume of demon-smoke erupted from Spence's mouth and engulfed her head.

Ted pushed his glasses up and looked up from the small black book, puzzled.

The black cloud whirled, becoming smaller until it disappeared. Spence lay bleeding, skull half-collapsed from a gunshot wound he hadn't had before.

"I don't understand, where did it go?" said Ted, edging out from under the table towards Claudia, who was slowly sitting upright on the cooling corpse, looking at her hands. He crawled up to examine the body. "I wasn't finished yet, it shouldn't have-"

Claudia grabbed Ted by the shoulders and spun him to face her coal-black eyes. "Worked just fine, Teddy Bear."

"No," Ted whispered, as Claudia put one hand on each of Ted's ears and snapped his neck.

-.-

Phil held a hand up and grimly watched the two people who'd been hammering at the front door finally shove their way through, then he motioned for Ash and Terry, who supported a groggy Ellen between them, to move across the parking lot to Ted's red Yugo. Phil brought up the rear, keeping his guns trained on the Roadhouse.

"Wait, wait," said Ellen, half-aware, as Terry and Ash awkwardly slid her into the passenger seat. "Dean and Bobby."

"Shit!" Ash said, looking back to the bar. "Bobby Singer and Dean Winchester. They're on the way, they're just gonna walk right into that." Aside from a broken window, it looked about the same as always. Faint noises of combat still came from within. "Any fucking demons left might set up a trap, catch them and any other hunters stoppin' by unaware."

"There's almost certain to be demons left," Terry said sourly despite Claudia's assurance, "and if there isn't, more could be coming. That may have been their plan all along, to set up a trap for hunters here."

"So, what do we do?" asked Phil, re-loading a .38 and looking uncomfortably between Ellen and the Roadhouse. "We've lost a lot of people, can't take 'em all down."

"Can't turn it into a trap if it's not there," Ash said.

Ellen nodded gingerly, "Not safe anymore, bastards."

"What, burn it down?" asked Terry.

"Or blow it up," Ash stated, gesturing at the parking lot. "I bet there's enough firepower stashed in these vehicles to launch the fucking Space Shuttle."

"Gas," Ellen muttered, sitting up straighter in the car, hand pressing the bar rag to the still bleeding gash on her forehead. "Kitchen, gas stove. Load it with anything you can find."

"Ken was rather fond of grenades," Terry observed soberly.

Phil nodded, "I just brought him a new batch today." He turned and ran toward a pickup truck that was half camouflage paint and half rust.

Ellen smeared a trickle of blood away from her eye. "If you're gonna blow up my bar, you better blow it up right. Get everyone out first."

"I'm sorry, Ellen," said Terry, holding Ellen's door as Ash went around to the driver's side and got behind the wheel.

"Sorry never got anything done. Go blow up my bar, asshole."

Terry grinned and shut the passenger door. He trotted over to his Cherokee and retrieved a handgun and a canvas bag. Ash pulled Ted's boxy red Yugo out of the parking lot and onto the dirt road, turning towards the Interstate.

-.-

Phil and Terry clambered through the RV and back into the Roadhouse through the side door to the kitchen. Phil ran ahead to check the main bar room, which was far too quiet.

Terry went straight to the oven, leaned in and blew out the pilot light, shoving in the bag of Ken's grenades and other ammunition. "How long does Ken have you set his grenade delays for, Phillip?" he said, turning the gas knob on the stove to maximum. "Phil?"

Behind Terry there was the clatter of a gun hitting linoleum, and a wet crunch followed by a gargling noise. Terry turned in time to see Claudia, eyes black, drop the body of the dying arms dealer. The scarred woman who appeared to be skewered on half of a pool cue slinked through the kitchen door behind her.

Terry bent to retrieve Phil's gun, neither possessed woman stopped him. The one with the scar pulled the cue out through her chest, grinning.

Claudia smiled broadly at him. "Hey there, Terry, you old Limey prick," she said, black eyes glinting. "Thought you might have run away."

The gas was on full, the sulfur stink of wet demon mixing with the rotten-egg smell of the gas. The grenades were ready, the oven door was ajar. Weighing the gun in his hand, Terry took a step back towards the stove.

Casually, Claudia called back over her shoulder, never breaking eye contact with Terry. "He's all yours."

A black cloud rushed out of the scarred woman's mouth towards Terry. He winced, held his breath and fired a shot into the oven.

-.-

When the explosion came, Ash tweaked the steering and nearly put the rally-sprung red Yugo in the ditch at fifty miles an hour. Ellen flinched, but watched the fireball rise in the mirror, steady-eyed.

"The others would've got out, before they set it off," Ash said, half a question in his voice. "They would've got everyone out."

Ellen said nothing, just stared hollowly at the smoke cloud rising where her bar used to be, blood-soaked bar rag forgotten in her lap. After a long moment she looked back out the front window.

"Head north when you get to the Interstate. We're going to Bobby's."

- - -  
(that's all, thanks for sticking around!)


End file.
